When I first came up with the story of Nightfall it began with the characters. I envisioned their style,
attitudes and relationships long before I could think of where I wanted the
story to take place. As the story came together the scenes just sort of fell
into place.

Each scene required a certain tone and I envisioned a
specific setting for the scene to take place but I still didn’t have an overall
setting for the entirety of Nightfall. I only had pieces that I needed to
assemble. I had Connor’s home, an old forgotten building, a house under
renovation, a pizzeria and a closed down jail. All of these settings I had
visited or experienced at some point. The most notable was certainly the closed
down jail. In Windsor, Vermont there is an old former jail-prison that was
closed in the 70’s that was subsequently renovated and turned into low-income
housing. The structure remains fairly well intact including the old death row.
This was one setting that I really wanted to feature in the story.

On the whole, there were a multitude of scenes but I still
couldn’t decide on the definitive setting for the entire story. It wasn’t until
I took a trip to Salem, Massachusetts that I found the elements Nightfall was missing.

Now, there have been countless stories that have used Salem
as a setting, and it carries a certain cliché in the paranormal genre yet the
reality of the Salem gave me a different inspiration.

Modern Salem is a bustling metropolis with the original
founding buildings hidden at the center. It’s an interesting mix of historic
sites and modern urban development. Through exploring Salem you could wander
from historic sites to psychic and witchcraft shops, from pizzerias to True Blood-esque Witch/Vampire bars like
Strega. In all, visiting Salem gave
me a new perspective.

The classic idea of Salem is no longer valid, but all of the
surrounding towns like Marblehead and Beverly carry that original New England Township
feeling that most still associate with Salem. If I had not actually visited
Salem, Nightfall would not be set in
Doliber Cove. I would still be under the same impression as most about Salem
and elements like sailing on the Massachusetts coast, quirky book shops, and
mysterious bars would be absent.

Nightfall

By
PW Creighton

Blurb:

Three years after everyone important
to Connor Maitland was murdered by a fanatical cult he is still attempting to
put his life back together. Accompanied by his ex-girlfriend and business
partner, Alison Herne, he is making a living as a jack-of-all-trades running a
security company, sailing charters, and even photographing weddings out of
Dolliber Cove, Massachusetts. Connor’s world is finally coming back together
until they find one of Alison’s ghost hunter friends murdered.

When a childhood love he thought was
dead, appears on his doorstep during their investigation, Connor is forced to
confront memories he convinced himself were the delusions of a man deep into
grief. They are being stalked by a mysterious man who appears to know far too
many of their secrets. After Alison is almost killed confronting her occult
past, it is impossible for Connor to deny the connection between the cases.
Someone is attempting to end Connor’s life and the lives of all those who surround
him.

The crazed rantings of the murderous
cult may be the key to his survival.

“Maitland, this is Tabitha. I know you’re not really into this stuff,
but I think you might want to make an exception this time. Well, I’m out by
Rockport off Old Cathedral with Camilla and Don, and I think we’ve got something
for you. It’s…wait— What are—” The voice stopped. “End of new messages. If you
would like to listen to your messages, press One.” An electronic beep sounded
and the voicemail started again.

The taste of wet concrete and a throbbing headache
made me roll onto my back and open my eyes to a dark mass overhead. It was too
dark to make out anything more than vague shapes without a flashlight.

“Ow.” I managed to sit up while the wireless headset
continued to repeat the voicemail in my right ear. A few feet away, my
flashlight blinked at a stack of wet pallets. I reached across the concrete to
retrieve the flashlight and twisted the end to get a steady beam. A quick
survey of my surroundings revealed a number of pallet stacks, the red metal
pipe-‐‑railing
I had just hopped over, a pile of heavy rope tangled around my feet, and a low‑hanging pulley block. This is why they say you
should not be fussing with your cell phone when you investigate a potentially
dangerous environment.

“Crap.” I scanned the floor for my lousy phone and
found it lying with its touchscreen against the corner of a pallet. I shut off
the voicemail and wiped off the grime to tuck it into my gray pea coat.

I forced myself to my feet only to stagger and lean
on the nearest stack of pallets. Between the weather and that pulley, I would
need a heavy dose of aspirin. I shook my head to clear my mind, but the phone
screamed for attention. I groaned and hit the button on my headset.

“Yeah?”

“Everything is all set for you tonight,” a woman
announced from the other end with a touch of nervousness. Her again.

“All right. We’ll check into that and then hit the
place this weekend.” I swept the light across the stacks of pallets. Through
one of the dirty skylights, I saw a flash of lightning. Can’t the weather ever
cooperate?

“I can’t thank you enough.” Her voice trembled.

“Right, see you then.” I tapped the headset and
rubbed my temple. The woman had been nothing but trouble since I had agreed to
help her. I was not in the mood to deal with anyone indecisive enough to keep
rescheduling a project because they were terrified by what I might find. When a
client is constantly rescheduling a site analysis, it means one of two things:
either they couldn’t afford the work or they were afraid I might find something
illegal. Either way, the job had eaten up my time and my patience. I had more
important issues than a simple security analysis.

I walked around a stack of pallets, stooped down and
checked the strange scratch marks in the concrete floor. I focused my light on
the corroded tin-‐‑and-‐‑ wood wall ahead of me. Various bundles of rope and
rusted tools hung from the exposed wall supports. Using the flashlight, I
followed a taut rope to a large rowboat suspended from the rafters. Everything was
damp and reeked of stale seawater. I followed the path between the stacks of
pallets and stepped around the odd tool in my path. The winds rushed the
structure; the walls creaked as waves crashed outside. I rounded another stack
of pallets and spotted the doorway to the office. It didn’t bode well.

As I
approached, my light revealed the remains of a modified digital camcorder still
attached to a tripod. I knelt down to check the camera only to find that even
the hard drive was smashed to bits. Completely unsalvageable. I stepped past
the remains and pushed open the worn, blue door. The office was in no better
shape.

The office had not been used in years, but on the
far side of the room were a couple of open cases of electronics. A battery-‐powered lantern
flickered on the floor and illuminated the destruction with a pale
fluorescence. Clumps of old tools covered the walls, and boxes left only a
narrow path to a stack of old desks under a fenced window. Pages from a spilled
file folder were strewn about the floor with various electronics.

It doesn’t take a professional investigator to
recognize a crime scene, but a professional knows what to look for without
compromising the scene. I craned my neck to look at the top of the equipment
case that had been knocked on the floor. RPS. It was Tabitha’s, all right, but
where were they?

I tried to spot anything that screamed out what
could have happened with their investigation. Amateur investigators are prone
to panic when they take on the wrong case, but professionals like Tabitha
wouldn’t just abandon thousands of dollars worth of electronics. Mixed in with
the equipment were a number of ritual tools for protection that included a
silver dagger, several bundles of incense, and candles. What had they attempted
to protect against? I pulled out my camera and snapped a couple of pictures of
the scene before I switched to video.

I shut off
the camera and moved through the partially open exterior door. The winds rushed
me and rippled my coat. The fresh air felt good but also unsteady with the
storm that approached. Waves sloshed against the wharf on both sides under a
thin mist. In the distance I could just make out a figure on the beach, rapidly
moving away.

Tour wide giveaway is an autographed paperback version of Nightfall and a copy of Connor's pendant at the end of the tour.

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About Me

The short version is: I never sleep, live on coffee and take exhausted to new levels.
The 'official' bio reads something like this:
Jacqueline Paige lives in Ontario in a small town that’s part of the popular Georgian Triangle area. No one has ever heard of Stayner, so she usually tells people she lives “near Collingwood” and no, she doesn’t ski at Blue Mountain or at all, in fact she’s not even fond of snow.